


A Man's Job

by fishnet



Category: Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey
Genre: Break the Haughty, Humiliation, M/M, Rape as an Assertion of Dominance, Unwilling Arousal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-04-06 03:32:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19054396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishnet/pseuds/fishnet
Summary: In which F'lar receives an instructive lesson.





	A Man's Job

**Author's Note:**

  * For [penumbralsock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/penumbralsock/gifts).



> For the prompt:
> 
> Young F'lar, bronzerider, son of a Weyrleader, eighteen-ish, convinced he is the hottest shit in the Weyr. Mnementh catches a green in flight and F'lar goes to do his manly job. The grizzled old bear of a greenrider just goes 'lol no,' flips him over and fucks him til his dragon feels it.

F’lar felt it first as an itch up his spine, a sudden restless discomfort that drove him out of the Lower Caverns to the bowl where Mnementh was basking in the sun. He found Mnementh restless, too, and followed his dragon’s gaze to where green Lieth was crouching, opening and closing her wings, her color deep and bright in the mid-day sun.

 _Lieth rises_ , Mnementh said.

F’lar felt a sudden twist of pleasure. He’d been waiting for another one of the greens to be ready. The first time Mnementh chased a green, F’lar had his heart in his mouth until Mnementh caught her, unable to think about anything but the humiliation of Nemorth’s mating flight. This time, all he felt was satisfaction at the chance to demonstrate his prowess.

 _Make sure you catch her_ , F’lar said, and Mnementh rumbled assent.

He had no doubts that Mnementh would. Fully grown, the great bronze dwarfed any blue or brown. They were both still young, but F’lar was well and truly a man, and he knew himself to be as good a rider as his father.  And certainly more of a man than any green rider twice his age. Not that he wasn’t glad for the greens —Mnementh had needs, and for that matter so did he —but there was always something womanish about green riders that made him shake his head. It was how they were made, though, and if they needed a man’s prick to plow them, his was already stirring with anticipation.  

F’lar took the steps to S’van’s weyr two at a time. Below, the green was already keening her arousal, and he had no intention of arriving too late to enjoy every minute of the flight. He found other riders already gathered, although T’bor was nowhere to be seen. F’lar felt a stab of disappointment — it would have been satisfying to watch Mnementh leave Orth in the dust—but there were enough older men in the circle who’d called him a boy at fourteen to make him savor the look that went round now as he arrived.

“Some would say it’s not sporting for a bronze to chase every green,” L’var said.

F’lar shrugged in elaborate unconcern. “It’s not my fault if your blue’s too small to catch one.”

“Call my dragon small one more time,” L’var growled, his hands clenching into fists.

“Touchy. Maybe your dragon isn’t the thing that’s too small.”

“Shut up, she’s about to rise,” S’van said from between gritted teeth. He was a big, broad-shouldered man, scarred and weathered from decades of flight, not the pretty youth F’lar would have preferred. Still, in a way it made it better, to know that a man who looked like that was about to be reduced to bucking and groaning under him like any girl spreading her legs in the Lower Caverns.

“Settle down and act your age,” H’rad added. He was one of the steadiest of the brown riders and a man F’lar usually liked, but at the moment he found the insult impossible to bear.

“Don’t presume to instruct me, brown rider,” he drawled.

His blood was up, and he felt he’d welcome a fight, although what he really wanted was to catch hold of S’van right now and shove him down into the fur-strewn couch. Instead he made himself wait, controlling his temper with an effort, until he heard the green’s keening rise to a triumphant cry and felt Mnementh launch himself into the air after her.

F’lar was with him, relishing his power in the air, and the ease with which he buffeted the smaller blues and browns out of his way. Only the green lay ahead of him, taunting him with her darting flight. But Mnementh was stronger and faster. He beat his wings, urged on by the violent lust that F’lar could feel surging through his own body, stiffening his prick until it strained against his trousers. The green tried to change direction, and Mnementh was there to meet her, their bodies tangling.

He heard himself cry out in triumph, and became aware of the room again. His pulse was thundering in his ears. The other riders were filing out, some grumbling, others desperate to work out their frustration on the nearest willing body.  S’van was already stripping, his prick standing up hard against his belly.

F’lar unfastened his trousers with one hand and manhandled the man roughly to bend him forward over the couch, ready to work out all his frustration on the man’s hard body. S’van resisted having his head pushed down, and F’lar yanked at his grizzled hair to encourage him to comply.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the man growled.

“A man’s job,” F’lar said, and shoved his knee between S’van’s. If the green rider felt any reluctance, he’d forget it as soon as he felt a hard cock inside him. He grappled S’van against him and thrust for his entrance, expecting to find him yielding and pliant as soon as he was mounted.

Instead, S’van ducked one shoulder and shrugged F’lar off. It was unexpected enough that F’lar was left off balance, and before he could get his feet under him properly, S’van was twisting F’lar’s arm behind his back.

“You think you’re a man,” S’van said, tugging F’lar’s trousers down with his other hand. “I’ll show you how a real man fucks.”

It took a moment for F’lar to understand what S’van intended to do. He fought to break away, but the more he struggled, the more painfully S’van twisted his arm behind him. The green rider’s grip was like iron. “You can’t.”

“Do you want to bet?” S’van shoved him forward, bending him over the couch. He struggled, trying to throw the older man off, but the man was heavier and stronger than he was, and he forced F’lar relentlessly down, pressing his face into the furs.

“I’ll tell the Weyrleader,” F’lar sputtered. “You’ll pay for this.”

“Oh, that’s a real man’s way of handling his problems. Tell if you want, or fight me if you dare, but if you do, everyone will know I had you like this, and I’ll tell them just how much you liked it.” S’van spit on his hand and jammed his wet fingers into the cleft of F’lar’s ass. “This is how you meant to do it, I expect. No oil to ease the way, just your big manly cock making me squeal like a girl.”

S’van thrust with his fingers, and it hurt. It was impossible that this was happening, impossible that he still couldn’t break S’van’s powerful grip, impossible that he was still hard despite the rough fingers invading him, his prick hot and sensitive as it ground into the furs.

“Lucky for you I don’t feel like being chafed raw,” S’van said, and twisted to reach for something. F’lar took the opportunity to fight with renewed determination, and S’van planted one knee in the small of his back and forced him painfully back down.  F’lar reached out in desperation for Mnementh, but Mnementh was too filled with lust to think about anything but mating, writhing with the green, his whole body afire with their pleasure.

He came back to the brutal reality of his own predicament as S’van twisted his fingers, now slick with oil, working F’lar open. He couldn’t repress a cry.

“Yell if you want and see who comes running,” S’van said.

He could all too vividly imagine it, the men he was so determined to impress bursting in to find him impaled on S’van’s prick. Whatever happened, no matter what anyone did to S’van, there would always be men who said he’d wanted it. They’d laugh at him behind his back forever.

“Get on with it,” he snarled instead.

“Begging for it already?”

“I’d never.”

“You will,” S’van said, and shoved his prick inside.

At first it was only pain, a grinding, invasive pain that made him catch his breath with every stroke. He struggled, and S’van shoved his head down harder and pinned him to the furs. He gritted his teeth trying not to make a noise, bracing himself to ensure the painful thrusts.

Then S’van shifted his weight, hit some different angle, and suddenly each stroke mingled pleasure and pain. His hard prick was still dragging against the furs, the urgency of the dragons’ mating still blazing through every nerve. He clenched his fists in the furs, trying to focus on the pain, but to his horror he felt the urge to thrust his hips, as if humping the furs would somehow ease the hot throbbing pressure inside him.

It built, and it built, and it built, until he was fighting with every thrust not to come, each wrench of mingled pleasure and pain driving him closer to the edge of a desperately unwanted orgasm. “Please,” he groaned, hoping unreasonably that S’van would stop short of making him humiliate himself this way, but the man only huffed a satisfied laugh.

“I knew I’d make you beg,” S’van said, and reached down to grip F’lar’s cock in one hand as he drove himself into his ass even harder.

F’lar jammed his own hand into his mouth and bit it, trying not to scream as he came. The orgasm was a cramping wave of agony and heat, and he felt himself spurting over and over into the sheets. When it stopped, he sagged in the furs, trying to catch his breath.

“Now we’ll go harder,” S’van said, and began thrusting again.

F’lar knew before it was over that he was going to have another orgasm, knew and still fought it every inch of the way, his increasingly exhausted struggles only rubbing his prick more maddeningly against the furs. It felt like it was coming from deeper inside, this time, a cramping wave starting in his ass rather than his prick, and then he felt his balls clenching and spilled himself again with a groan.

S’van was panting, now, hammering into him as he finished, each stroke a new agony now as it hit that place inside him that felt like a raw nerve, too sensitive now for him to bear without gasping at every stroke. He could feel tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, and clenched his fists. He wouldn’t give S’van that satisfaction, too.

Finally, with a loud grunt, the man thrust one final time and then went rigid, spilling himself in a rush of heat that stung raw places and ran sticky down F’lar’s thigh as S’van pulled out.

F’lar lay face down in the furs, fighting not to let each ragged breath break into a sob. He sat up finally, shaky but dry-eyed, and made himself raise his head to face S’van.

The man threw F’lar a damp rag, already sponging himself off. “Clean up and get out,” he said. “And learn some manners before you go courting again.”

“I don’t court green riders,” F’lar said, cleaning himself up as best he could with shaking hands and reaching for his trousers.

“So I’ve heard.” The desperate heat was gone from S’bor’s eyes. “I remember my first time. A hold-bred young fool trying to pretend I didn’t look at boys because I was a big strapping manly man. And then Lieth rose, and there I was with my ass in the air, getting plowed by a man’s cock and begging for more. At least he had the decency to bring oil.” He shook his head. “I had a better time than you, maybe. But I didn’t have any more choice in the matter.”

“Your point?” F’lar said tightly.

“My point, bronze rider, is that you’re no better than any other man in this Weyr, and you’d better learn that before you’re my Weyrleader. Now get out, I’m tired of your pretty face.” His eyes unfocused for a moment, and his expression softened. “Lieth says she’s well served, so at least your bronze has some idea what to do with his prick.”

F’lar made his way out unsteadily and descended until he found an unused corridor where he could lean his back against the wall.

He could feel Mnementh’s mental touch, satiated now but tinged with concern. _You hurt._

 _He fought,_ F’lar said, trying to make himself believe that was all that had happened, despite the pain and the trembling in his legs that refused to subside. _He didn’t want what I wanted._

 _Why should that matter?_ Mnementh asked, genuinely confused, and F’lar wasn’t certain he had an answer.


End file.
